


The Art of the Game

by Mustachiest



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, I'm Bad At Tagging, M/M, Master of Death Harry Potter, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-23 19:49:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11996763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mustachiest/pseuds/Mustachiest
Summary: "The future influences the present just as much as the past."-Friedrich Wilhelm NietzscheAt 02:08 a.m. on September 22, 1934, runes began to form and glow.Eihwaz. Jera. Nauthiz. Kenaz.These runes along with others formed a circular band, gradually other bands were constructed and they eventually formed a runic sphere coated in the gold aura of powerful magic. The runes spun and blurred until it stopped. A resounding boom can be heard all throughout the area and white light enveloped the graffiti riddled wallsAll you could hear was silence.In the aftermath of the spectacular event stood a lone wizard with a scar etched on his face.





	The Art of the Game

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first proper fic so please, no hate

**I.**   **The Boy of the Past**

_"Oh, monsters are scared," said Lettie. "That's why they're monsters."_

― Neil Gaiman, The Ocean at the End of the Lane

* * *

**T** om Riddle, always considered himself an extraordinary child. With his aristocratic features and meek facade, everyone who hasn't met him turned to putty in his hands. _( Except the St. Wool's orphanage's inhabitants, they only looked at him with fear in their eyes and called him the son of the devil)._

One of the things that made Tom consider himself apart from the other orphanage kids was his uncanny fear of  _death._

Not necessarily death, oblivion would be a better word for it. The fear of being forgotten. He could imagine it right now, his gravestone,( _if there ever was one)_  stating  _Tom Riddle 1926 -,_ His gravestone would be cracked, unkempt, shrouded in weeds and amongst the others who have been forgotten through time or through purpose because nobody remembered him, because he just  _another_  orphan boy, just another casualty of the great depression,  _because_  he was just one amongst the millions who have strived to be different but was harshly rejected by fate.

He, however,  _refuses_  to be forgotten. He will be unlike those around him. He will be known. His name will be spoken with reverence, he will be  _distinguished._  He wouldn't be forgotten like the others. He will be  _remembered._

He was confident about this fact, after all, he was  _different._ He had what other children in the orphanage didn't. He had  _it._  He knew that it was him that causes the dirty glass windows of the orphanage to  _break._  He knew it was him that caused the other orphans slip in the staircase and break their bones after they dared  _tease_  him.

Somewhere in Tom's Bitter, grudge-bearing Heart, he finds humour in the way the other orphans treat him. ( _How dare they mock him_ ) It was like seeing ants biting a human in a desperate attempt at self-defence.( _He consciously bats away the thought that even if they are ants they still do hurt him.)_  A  ** _freak,_** an  ** _abomination,_** a  ** _devil_**  in the body of a child, they said. ( _He remembers the way the matrons don't even try to help him and consciously turn a blind eye to his bully's antics, because he knew, that they thought that it was true as well.)_

It doesn't matter, what the other orphans think of him ( _He imagines them screaming, begging for help just like he did when he still wore rose tinted lenses. Burning, burning, burning. He imagines their skin licked by flames. The thought lulls him to sleep.)_ He will be great. His power is only a proof of it. And by the time he comes to power, he will all make them  _beg_ _(Just like they did to him)._


End file.
